


The Boy Made of Fire

by burnt_oranges



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Dragon!Yuuri, Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M, Quidditch, veela!victor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-09-27 04:30:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9964316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burnt_oranges/pseuds/burnt_oranges
Summary: In which Yuuri frequently turns into a dragon to escape his emotional problems, makes his comeback on the International Quidditch Team, and develops an increasingly worrying habit of stealing Victor's clothes.Or: Yuuri collects Victor.





	1. Katsuki Yuuri and the Meeting of Victor Nikiforov

Yuuri slumped into dragon form after the walk of shame upstairs from another dinner of--well, way too many katsudon. All the Victors in his posters looked at him disapprovingly, having had far too much exposure to Minako-sensei. Dragon thoughts were just simpler, easier, less likely to spiral into shame-fueled flashbacks of the Asia Cup, his insides clenching, nausea settling heavily into the pit of his stomach.  Mari and Minako-sensei had staged a two-person intervention after Yuuri spent two weeks straight in dragon form, which really only had the effect of Yuuri resorting to skulking around and hiding instead of openly lounging on the sofa watching terrible game shows.

It was just that Yuuri would be doing dishes, brushing his teeth, helping his mother in the kitchen, when it would hit him again, a physical shock to his system, that he had failed irreparably at the only thing he had ever wanted. He had worked hard, harder than anyone else, because he had to. Katsuki Yuuri had no natural talent, only desire, only the wanting that was a blistering fire inside him and made his stomach cramp, his teeth ache.  But then he would think, but I fucked up and I can’t do it anymore and I’m a _failure_ \--

Then he’d start hyperventilating over dirty dishes and have to run to the bathroom to panic very quietly, and really, it was just easier to shift into dragon form, just for a little while, just for a bit of relief.

As Yuuri was only part-dragon, albeit having received a whopping dose of the family genetics in comparison to his sister and parents, his dragon form was approximately the size of a large poodle. This meant he fit nicely at the end of his bed, and he coiled himself there now on blankets stolen from his family. It was completely a recipe for another intervention, but he was willing to take the risk at this point with how deeply comforting wrapping himself in the scents of his family was.

The door to his room slammed open, startling him out of a light katsudon-induced doze, and Mari stared at him from the doorway. “Really,” she said, crossing her arms.

Yuuri attempted to look like someone who didn’t escape his emotional problems by shifting into a dragon.

“And that’s where my blanket went,” Mari sighed, looking eternally disappointed in Yuuri’s life choices. Yuuri gently sank his claws into Mari’s blanket, and Mari rolled her eyes. She knelt in front of him and poked his stomach, which admittedly was a little…round for a dragon, and he curled in on himself like a pill-bug. “Pathetic,” she said, resting her chin in her hand.

Yuuri looked at her with sad dragon eyes until she took pity on him and rubbed his back, which turned out to be a trap because then she said, “You have to turn on your phone sometime.” Yuuri pointedly looked away from her, folding his front legs more firmly underneath himself; Phichit had always said he looked like a meat-loafing cat when he did that, whatever that meant. Mari’s other hand twitched toward her cigarette pack, and he pretended not to notice when she motioned for him to light her cigarette. “Hey,” she said. “Don’t ignore me. What’s done is done.”

Yuuri blew a smoke ring with a touch of flame to demonstrate his displeasure in the triplets’ decision to sell a photo of him performing Victor’s signature move, the Quadruple Flip, to a reporter; he was starting to look like a hoarder with how many newspapers had been sent to him with copies of the photograph in question.

The wizarding world was just starting to take an interest in Muggle technology, and as there was currently no government regulation, this had resulted in dubiously modified, bootleg iPhones that seemed to be developing individual, sentient opinions on what parts of the Internet were relevant. For example, Yuuri’s phone, a gift from Phichit, had seemed to determine that the photos of Yuuri fucking up at the Asia Cup were the most salient. Admittedly, Yuuri had forgiven his phone embarrassingly fast when a glitch in its programming made it so that a picture of a donut he was looking at had suddenly transfigured itself from the page into his hand, still warm.

“Fine,” Mari said, withdrawing her hand and standing up. “Mama said to stop holing up in your room and help with the snow.”

Yuuri heaved himself upright and slithered onto the floor to trot downstairs, as the only reprieve from Minako-sensei and Mari’s calculating looks were when he was asked to heat up the hot springs or melt snow with his fire. Mari opened the door for Yuuri only for Yuuri to be ambushed by a…poodle?

As Oto-san cheerfully explained that a very good-looking foreigner was the owner of this dog, Yuuri dazedly wondered if this was a magical poodle, as most animals couldn’t tolerate being in a room with Yuuri in his dragon form. Vicchan had been a wonderful exception, and maybe this dog, the poodle of apparently a very good-looking Russian man who was also—oh god—

Yuuri skittered down the hall, tail whacking one wall and leaving a dent in the wood.

“Where’s the fire?” Oto-san called after him, chuckling at the old family joke, as Yuuri was almost always the fire. Yuuri had spent an excruciating number of his childhood years accidentally destroying parts of the house; Mitarashi-san from the bank still sent them New Year’s cards.

Yuuri awkwardly ran outside to the hot springs on small, clawed dragon feet, where— _Victor—Victor Nikiforov_ —soaked in his family’s hot springs. Yuuri stopped and gaped in a way he knew, based on unfortunate photographic evidence, looked very unattractive. He vaguely wondered if he was in a fever dream, conjured up by the trash-fire state of his life, because Victor looked even better up close than Yuuri could ever have imagined, even compensating for hot spring fog. With Victor’s delicately flushed cheeks, the unalloyed aquamarine of his eyes, the knee-buckling strength of his smile—Yuuri could totally believe the rumors that Victor was part-Veela.

Victor rose out of the water like Botticelli’s _Venus_ and extended an elegant hand toward him. “Yuuri,” Victor said, his voice like liquid sunlight, all warm and bright. Yuuri wanted to wrap himself in it like a blanket. “I want you on my team,” he said, the kind of fantastic, sweeping declaration that only happens in Minako-sensei's lovingly curated collection of romance novels (all sexy parts earmarked, to Yuuri's eternal shame)--which was when Yuuri realized that in his shock, he had accidentally shifted back into human form and was sitting on the cold ground, completely naked, when meeting his idol for the very first time.


	2. Katsuki Yuuri and the Meeting of Yuri Plisetsky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You promised to train me this summer!" Yuri said, hands on his hips like a grade-A fishwife.

Yuuri was unsuccessful in his attempt to block out the trauma of meeting Victor in...less than ideal conditions but not for lack of trying--Yuuri was able to eat a truly shameful number of katsudon before Victor cut him off. 

"Seekers can't be little piggies. You need to get back to your weight from last year's Asia Cup, at the least," Victor said, smiling, still gorgeous with rice on his face and saying terrible things, "or you can't be on my team."

I should be offended, Yuuri thought, mouth hanging open, but his body betrayed him with breathless elation. 

Victor was only staying for two months but had still brought--by Yuuri's count--a minimum of six lamps, a king-sized bed, a sleek, white arm chair and coffee table, and at least three sets of Matryoshka nesting dolls. However, Victor only brought one broom, his trademark gold-trimmed Firebolt, and Yuuri could only watch him fly with the heart-stopping awe of his 12-year-old self.

"The little piggy can't enter the pitch until he drops some body fat!" Victor called cheerfully from the bottom of a Wronski Feint. 

"Was he like that in school?" Nishigori said, slinging an arm around Yuuri's shoulder.

"I-I wouldn't know," Yuuri mumbled because he hadn't managed to make the Koldovstoretz school team until fourth year when he was fifteen, which was, of course, the year after Victor graduated.

"That's right, you never could get up the courage to actually talk to him," Nishigori mused. "Man, how many try-outs did you blow again?"

Yuuri forlornly considered the odds of Nishigori telling Mari if he shifted into dragon form and decided the odds weren't stacked in his favor, as Yuuri had deeply suspected for weeks that Nishigori was now on dragon-watch as a paid informant.

"Let me get this straight," Minako-sensei said later, as she watched Yuuri sweat out approximately half his body weight leaping from one hovering broomstick to the other. Minako-sensei taught Volanti, the sport of acrobatics on floating, moving broomsticks, and she had traveled as a world-class Volantist before settling in Hasetsu; Yuuri had spent most of his childhood in her studio. "Victor Nikiforov is going to train you personally for the Quidditch Professional Cup in the spring."

"We're most likely going to his home pitch in Saint Petersburg," Yuuri gasped before falling flat on his face on the grass. "In the fall," he said into the ground.

"Get up, Yuuri," Minako-sensei barked before saying, thoughtfully, "The news said that Victor quit The Russian National Quidditch team after a five-year winning streak as their top Chaser to captain and coach the International Quidditch team. But hasn't the International Quidditch team been an empty team title for at least the past few decades?"

Yuuri heaved himself up and summoned water from the bench with a flick of his wand. "Because of that, all of the ownership paperwork had lapsed," Yuuri explained. 

Minako-sensei's perfectly plucked eyebrows rose. "So it was just...free for the taking?"

"Victor can be--persuasive," Yuuri admitted, bleakly considering his ever-shortening odds of holding out and  _not_ taking up Victor's offer of sleeping with him. In bed. Platonically. 

"And you inspired him to do that with that picture," Minako-sensei said, half-wondering, half in disbelief because after knowing Yuuri since he was four and afraid of the sound of ripping parchment, Minako-sensei held no illusions regarding Yuuri's ability to function in everyday life. "He chose you."

Yuuri sucked in a deep breath and resumed his jumping exercises to avoid the grandness of that statement, balanced on the knife-edge of joy and despair because Yuuri had a long history of not performing well under pressure.

"Or he might have just been looking for an excuse to take a break," Minako-sensei added with the blunt force of a hammer.

"Oh, please don't say that," Yuuri said, barely stopping himself from face-planting into the dirt again. 

 "Well, let's get you slimmed down, anyway," Minako-sensei said dubiously, watching Yuuri slowly being forced into a split by the two broomsticks moving in opposite directions.

It was later, alone in his bedroom, when Yuuri was finally free to vegetate in dragon form, that his phone rang the theme song to _The King and_ _I._ Yuuri gave a small sigh of smoke before shifting into human form. As much as Yuuri hated to admit it, there was technical truth in Mari frequently calling Yuuri an accidental flasher (although he wished she would stop telling other people that). Such was the price of dragon form. Phichit didn't even blink an eye anymore after sharing a cramped apartment with Yuuri for years.

"Hi, Phichit," Yuuri said, leaning against his wall, which he had manically cleared of all posters. Yuuri had to apologize to each Victor individually as he hid them under the bed, and even then, they still weren't satisfied judging by the thirteen silent raspberries blown his way.

"Yuuri!" Phichit said, standing on his home pitch in Thailand. "You're alive!"

"Sorry for not answering," Yuuri said, meaning not just for the past two weeks but for the past months when Yuuri was first too depressed and then too ashamed to answer Phichit's calls and owls. "It was just--crazy for a while."

Phichit smirked. "I saw on Minami's Wizzat. Is Victor Nikiforov really staying in your family's inn?"

Yuuri decided he didn't need to know what a Wizzat was and confirmed that yes, Victor Nikiforov was literally downstairs in Yuuri's dining room right now, probably shirtless and curled around Makkachin, the image of which was detrimental to Yuuri's heartrate. 

"Oh my god, Yuuri, that's amazing," Phichit said, beaming, his hand disappearing from view before flinging confetti at the screen. Yuuri blinked rapidly as the confetti didn't stop on Phichit's end and instead continued through Yuuri's screen onto Yuuri's face. 

"I thought that was a glitch," Yuuri said faintly. 

"Isn't it neat?" Phichit said excitedly before placing his hand against his screen and then--Phichit's fingers were wiggling, flesh-and-blood, in front of Yuuri's face. Yuuri screamed and dropped the phone before falling off the bed trying to get closer to the wall. "Yuuri, are you okay?" Phichit's voice said from the floor. His fingers had thankfully disappeared and the phone was no longer moving like a technologically advanced Thing from _The Addams Family_  (Mari had gone through an embarrassingly long-lived American Muggle-inspired goth phase as a teenager, and Yuuri was still waiting for the right opportunity to bring it up for maximum mortification). "I'm sorry! I forgot how afraid you were of  _The Ring_ ," Phichit apologized, and Yuuri finally determined it was safe to pick up the phone. 

Phichit was Muggle-born, and when they had both been living in Detroit for training, Phichit had forced Yuuri to sit through a ridiculous number of Muggle horror movies before Yuuri finally failed out after _It_ , when he learned that a) clowns existed and b) he was terrified of them. "I-it's okay," Yuuri said, carefully keeping his fingers away from his own screen. "How are you?"

Phichit had apparently been stymieing Ciao-Ciao and everyone on his team by digitally taping each practice with his bootleg magic-infused iPhone and having viewings at his house. Yuuri laughed because he understood; he came from an old wizarding family and when he first saw a television, he had marveled at Muggle technology, which almost seemed like a form of magic in itself. Of course Phichit, who was crazy for Muggle technology, would be just as obsessed with wizarding technology. 

Yuuri was about to tentatively ask how Ciao-Ciao was, as Yuuri hadn't answered his calls either, when he heard a commotion coming from downstairs. "I have to go," Yuuri said, starting to rush into the hall before remembering to dig around in his drawers for clothes. "Sorry, Phichit!"

"Wait, Yuuri, you have--" Phichit motioned at his face. 

"Talk to you later," Yuuri said hurriedly before throwing his phone on the bed and racing downstairs to find--Yuuri squinted, having forgotten his glasses--a very angry Russian teenager?

"Yuri, stop yelling," Victor said, his green inn-issue robe slipping off one pale, muscled shoulder. Yuuri itched to pull his sleeve up, or maybe to slide it further down--

"You promised to train me this summer!" Yuri said, hands on his hips like a grade-A fishwife. He stopped yelling, briefly, in order to apparently give his full attention to slanting Yuuri a deeply unimpressed look. "This is the loser you're coaching?" Yuri said, pointing rudely at Yuuri.

"Yuuri has a strong work ethic--" Victor started.

"He has _confetti_  all over his stupid face," Yuri said flatly.

Oh, fuck. Yuuri patted his face and came away with glittery confetti all over his fingers. Victor did a double-take, apparently actually having not noticed, and made a choking sound that took Yuuri a few seconds to realize was stifled laughter. Yuuri tried wiping his hands on his shirt, but it made no noticeable difference to the amount on his hands and now his shirt was also covered in a thick layer of glittery confetti. Yuuri stared down at himself in despondence. 

Victor gave up on politeness and rolled on the floor guffawing, which, Yuuri contemplated, was really unbefitting a living Quidditch legend. 

When Yuri started yelling again, at length, Yuuri was finally able to identify why Yuri seemed so familiar--he was the Russian punk who had kicked down his bathroom stall door after the Asia Cup. And furthermore, Yuri had been a first year when Yuuri was a seventh year, replacing Yuuri as Seeker when he graduated, thus becoming the youngest Koldovstoretz Quidditch team player in half a century. Yuuri had read clips about Yuri's talent in  _The Daily Prophet_ when Yuri was only a third year, right before Yuuri took a massive nosedive in his own career. 

 "I've got it," Victor said, placing his hands on his knees to stand, still chuckling.

"What?" Yuri demanded, and Yuuri really wished hadn't asked that, judging by the worrying amount of glee in Victor's sparkling blue eyes. 

"You two will compete against each other as Seekers!" Victor announced, clapping his hands. "Whoever wins gets to be personally trained by me!"

"But Yuri's still in school--" Yuuri tried.

"I'm going to beat your ass!" Yuri declared, pointing at Yuuri again.

"That's the spirit," Victor cheered.

Yuuri couldn't even cover his face in despair because he already had confetti in his mouth and he didn't want it in his eyes.

 


	3. Katsuki Yuuri and the Battle of the Seekers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the time Yuuri was finally able to rid himself of glitter and/or confetti from all orifices, the triplets had organized and then marketed Hot Springs on Broomsticks, the event in which Yuuri and Yurio would compete against each other as Seekers.

By the time Yuuri was finally able to rid himself of glitter and/or confetti from all orifices, the triplets had organized and then marketed Hot Springs on Broomsticks, the event in which Yuuri and Yurio would compete against each other as Seekers. This apparently included buying advertising space in the local newspapers in order to feature a picture of Yurio completing a technically perfect Sloth Grip Roll side-by-side a picture of Yuuri in dragon form absolutely destroying a tray of salmon-filled onigiri. Yuuri would have had words with the triplets for this except that when Victor wasn't cheerfully busting his ass in practice ten hours a day, Yurio (as Mari had dubbed him) was demanding that Yuuri heat the hot springs especially for him. 

"Aren't you from a very cold country?" Yuuri finally said in exasperation after shifting into human form.

"Yurio is a delicate flower," Victor said, smiling through a bold-faced lie. 

"Hey!" Yurio said, resembling a drowned cat after an hour in the hot springs.

"You never soak in dragon form, Yuuri," Victor remarked, turning his head toward Yuuri as he slid into the hot springs.

Yuuri coughed. "I'm not, ah, allowed," he said.

"Why not?" Victor said, eyes wide, as if everything about Yuuri fascinated him.

"Um, I displace too much water," Yuuri said, evasive, because the truth was that he wasn't allowed  _anymore_ after he flooded the entire hot springs for a week when he was eleven. 

Victor looked enchanted.

"But you're puny as a dragon," Yurio said, frowning and squinting at Yuuri. "You're even smaller than--"

Fortunately, it was at that point that Mari shouted, "Dinner is ready!" from inside the inn; less fortunately, she added, "Mitarashi-san still talks about the 2009 Debacle to new clients."

Victor and Yurio shot Yuuri twin looks of interest, and Yuuri resigned himself to the compounded misery of steamed vegetables and the indignities of his youth.

"Yuuri didn't show any indication of being able to perform magic until he was eleven years old," Oto-san said, after a horrible rendition of the 2009 Debacle led to Victor's question about why Mari and he went to different magical schools. Mama passed Mari still steaming white rice, which Yuuri wasn't allowed to have for the foreseeable future. "We thought his innate ability to shift into dragon form might be it."

"Yuuri was a late bloomer," Mama said, smiling, and placed a warm hand on Yuuri's shoulder. Yuuri's family wouldn't have cared if he ever showed a sign of real magic; they would have been completely happy to have Yuuri work at the hot springs for the rest of his life or go to a Muggle university or whatever else magic-less people did. But Yuuri had always ached for something more. "Oh, how he cried every day Mari left on the Storm Petrels."

Yurio's face softened despite himself before quickly returning to full-power glare. "So you've been a crybaby moron your entire life, huh," Yurio said, kicking Yuuri.  Victor increasingly looked at Yuuri like he wanted to hug him.

Yuuri fought the urge to hide under the table.

"All of us were surprised when Koldovstoretz sent Yuuri an acceptance letter," Mari remarked. And Yuuri, true to form, had sobbed the entire day afterward. Mari, having some mercy, did not relate the story of walking in on Yuuri kissing one of his Victor posters (he only had two at the time) the evening after he received the acceptance.

It was just--it had felt like all of Yuuri's dreams had come true all at once: magic and flying and Victor Nikiforov. It was Minako-sensei's fault--and Nishigori and Yu-chan--because while Yuuri had been born with a love of flying, he absorbed his love of Quidditch from them. After the heartbreak of Yuuri's rejection from the Mahoutokoro School of Magic, Yuuri had felt like he might shatter from the happiness of actually going to the same school as Victor, of being able to watch him _fly in person_.

Yuuri had been so shy and quiet as a child, never asking for anything. What a surprise to his family when Yuuri turned out to want something they couldn't give him, and he might never be able to have. When Yuuri cried, it was small and quiet and made his family practically stand on their heads to figure out how to fix it. Those were the years his parents took him to a few specialists, and they had said that Yuuri's strong dragon heritage changed the shape of his magical development. Only time would tell. 

"And then it took him four years to make the fucking team," Yurio scoffed.

Victor's face took on the smile that Yuuri was starting to recognize as signaling someone's doom. "Didn't you go to all of his games, Yura?" Victor said, tilting his head.

Yurio sputtered and turned violently red. "Why would I ever go watch that piggy play?" Yurio finally managed to spit out. 

Victor shrugged. "You tell me," he invited. 

After another round of choking, in which much rice was sprayed on the table and Yuuri started racking his brains for if he knew the Heimlich, Yurio yelled, "Shut up, Victor,"  and stomped off.

"More katsudon, Vicchan?" Mama said after a beat.

"Of course!" Victor said, holding out the training chopsticks meant for children that Mama had finally given Victor after he dropped food for the fifth time in Yuuri's lap. Victor had seemed proficient enough with chopsticks on the first day, but perhaps he had just been sufficiently hungry. Yuuri glanced down at his own food--bland, sans oil--and sadly watched Victor eat a second helping of his Mama's katsudon. Even Mari, who had grown up with Yuuri and so had a certain immunity, had a difficult time resisting Yuuri's large, sad eyes in either human or dragon form.

Unfortunately, Victor was truly heartless and finished both third and fourth helpings before shamelessly asking for dessert. 

"Losing your touch," Mari murmured, smirking, as she picked up Yuuri's empty plate. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Yuuri said, prim.

Yuuri continued to practice for Hot Springs on Broomsticks like it was the Quidditch Cup. When Victor sent Yuuri to accompany Yurio to a waterfall like they were in Samurai days, Yuuri went without complaint. Yuuri used a real Snitch to practice and then had to spend three days looking for it; he was so dehydrated when he finally caught it that Victor made him skip practice for a day. Yuuri had recuperated in bed, alternating between running plays in his head and ruminating feverishly on what would happen if he lost. 

When competition day arrived, bright and clear, Yuuri was wired and sleep-deprived from an all-nighter with Minako-sensei. Yuuri covered his emotional instability with copious amounts of hair gel and earbuds, playing music from Phichit's Spotify playlists (which all had names like "Year of the Hamster" and "Yuuri Wants the D"). 

"We're here at Ice Castle Hastestu, the location of Hot Springs on Broomsticks!" Morooka announced to enormous cheering from the disconcertingly large audience. "Right off the bat, we have Seekers Katsuki Yuuri and Yuri Plisetsky. You will be competing against each other to catch the Snitch first. Tell us how you feel going into the event!"

"Um," Yuuri said, frozen in a rictus of exhaustion and terror. He blinked once. "It'd be great if you'd try the hot springs afterward--" 

"Hey!" Morooka interrupted, and Yuuri jumped. "We're not asking you to promote tourism! Promote yourself!" 

Morooka thankfully then turned his loving attention on Yurio before Yuuri could say anything else. 

"We don't need two Yuris," Yurio said immediately but his scowl was subdued in comparison to the heights Yuuri knew he could reach. "I'll crush him."

"Yes, that's it! Thank you for giving us what we wanted to hear!" Morooka said, before flicking his wand to make his voice even louder. "Last but not least, let's hear from Victor Nikiforov, who's switched to the International Quidditch team from the Russian National team out of the blue!"

"Hi!" Victor said brightly. Yuuri saw an entire section of the stands swoon. "Hasetsu is a great place! Come and visit at least once!"

"Victor, what are you doing?" Yuuri hissed, trying to remain out of reach of Morooka's volume-enhancing wand. 

"Eh?" Victor said, looking adorably confused. 

"Stop that!" Yurio said, scowl ratcheting several levels at once and pointing at Victor. "It makes today's face-off look cheap. You'd better be ready to evaluate our battle."

"You'll train whoever wins, right?" Yuuri said, glancing nervously at the crowd. 

"Hm," Victor said, touching his wand to his exquisitely-shaped mouth, which was both horrible wand etiquette and completely unfair to Yuuri's state of mind before a competition. "Of course!"

"...you forgot, didn't you," Yurio groaned. 

Morooka frowned at all of them, most likely wishing the three of them could get their shit together. Yuuri too wished he could get his shit together. Instead, he put his iPhone away because DJ Khaled's "All I Do is Win" was too depressingly inaccurate. As Victor shuffled Yuuri and Yurio to the field, Yuuri thought, if I lose, Victor will go back to Russia. Yuuri didn't want that. He had to win, he wanted to win--

"Yuuri," Victor said, standing very close to Yuuri. Yuuri squeaked and put his hands over his mouth. 

"U-um, I'm--" Yuuri stammered before gaining momentum, "I'm going to do my best to catch the Snitch, so--please watch me." Victor smelled like the Aramis cologne he used on special occasions and the inn's industrial detergent; his dark, soft-looking robes made his eyes even bluer, the exact shade of the Inland Sea. Yuuri felt dazed by Victor's mere presence as he hadn't been since the first few days of knowing Victor, like Victor had been slowly unwinding inside the private walls of Yuuri's home, and now, in front of a crowd, he was once again in full-force. Yuuri blamed this for why he leaned forward and hugged Victor tightly, his arms wrapped around Victor's shoulders. "Promise!"

"Of course," Victor said almost immediately, "I love--"

But Yuuri didn't get to hear what Victor loved because Morooka's volume-enhanced voice said, "We're pleased to introduce a player who has represented Japan in the Asia Cup, Katsuki Yuuri!"

Yuuri hurried onto the field, broomstick in hand, and almost tripped over his robes when Yurio was announced. Victor was referree and had jogged to the center of the field, not even out of breath when Yuuri and Yurio reached him. Victor held the Snitch, round and gilded, its wings fluttering in frantic bursts. Yuuri felt his teeth lengthen and forced them back into human shape. Unfortunately, the stereotype of dragons hoarding gold and other precious items was actually true, and Yuuri felt every instinct in his body hone in on Victor and his long-fingered hands and the golden Snitch. 

"The Seeker who catches the Snitch first," Victor said in a low voice, as if he was confiding a secret, and Yuuri leaned closer, like a moth to the flame, "wins!"

"Duh," Yurio said, looking unimpressed with Victor's melodrama, but he arranged himself on his broom, one of the latest Russian models. Yuuri clambered onto his Nimbus 2000, all he could afford without a sponsor.

Victor held the Snitch up for one long moment, shimmering in the sunlight, before letting it go. "And begin!" Victor shouted, raising his arms to the sky. 

And Yuuri and Yurio were off, circling the field and each other, no other players to distract or deflect from finding the Snitch. Yuuri had never felt so naked during a game, although he had certainly felt this anxious. The thing was, flying itself had never been the problem. Yuuri flew as he breathed, as his heart beat--one of his earliest memories was hovering several inches above the bathwater in dragon form, his mother attempting to coax him into putting his face under the water for the two seconds required to wash his face. 

Yuuri's problem was the pressure. His confidence collapsed like wet paper if he couldn't find the Snitch after thirty minutes and then it was only downhill from there. With Yuuri's latest failure, Yuuri knew the amount of time before he started to unravel at the emotional seams could only decrease. Only ten minutes had passed, and Yuuri felt sweat dripping down his spine, absorbed by the waistband of his underwear, his panic rising like mercury in a thermometer. 

"The Snitch is nowhere to be seen," Morooka announced. "Plisetsky monitors the perimeter of the field while Katsuki--Katsuki, what are you doing? Get moving!"

Yuuri flushed, stuttering his broom forward, inwardly cursing Morooka for being so familiar with his career that he felt he could call Yuuri out in the middle of a game. He half hoped Victor wasn't watching him after that, but the other half of him--well, he couldn't help it, he wanted Victor's eyes on him all the time, even when he was fucking up. Yuuri meandered the length of the field, searching for gold in a sea of green grass, tracking Yurio's location in his peripheral vision. 

Yurio flitted around the field with purpose, and Yuuri drifted in his direction because really, it seemed like _too_ much purpose--and then Yuri dropped straight into a textbook Wronksi Feint, a move Koldovstoretz students weren't allowed to perform until they graduated. As Yuuri followed, head-first, he vaguely heard Morooka say, "Yuri Plisetsky has spotted the Snitch!"

Yuuri squinted, eyes watering from the speed at which he hurtled toward the ground, and he saw the moment Yurio miscalculated and dove too far past the Snitch. Yuuri was at the correct depth but still several feet away, and Yurio was yet in arm's reach of the Snitch, so Yuuri--

"Is Katsuki standing on his broomstick?" Morooka said in shock. 

\-- kicked off his broom and took a leap of faith, his hand reaching up, Yurio's mouth falling open--

"And Katsuki has caught the Snitch!" Morooka said, starting to sound hoarse.

Yuuri landed, two-footed, on his broom, Snitch captured in his sweaty hands.

"Katsuki has a background in Volanti," Morooka said, hardly audible above the din of the audience. "That's one of the medium-level skills, kicking your broom where you're going to land--"

Yuuri landed on the grass hard, his legs shaking, and Victor called his name from the edge of the field. Yuuri looked up hopefully, hardly registering the ground beneath his feet, the feeling of weightlessness still clinging to his bones. Victor beamed, arms up to snag Yuuri into a hug once he was close enough. "Wonderful!" Victor breathed in his ear, and Yuuri felt it all the way down to his toes.

"T-thank you," Yuuri said breathlessly.

"But can I say something?" Victor said, looking him directly in the eye.

"S-sure," Yuuri said, flushing because Victor had looked so happy with him.

"What was with that Woollongang Shimmy, that was your worst attempt so far, and I know you had Yurio teach you the Quadruple Salchow in secret, but--"

Yuuri could only be grateful when Victor spotted Yurio trying to sneak past them and grabbed him by the back of his robes, thereby freeing Yuuri. "How many times have I said this? This position as Seeker works for you now," Victor said, grasping Yurio by the shoulders so he couldn't escape. "But you're going to grow tall, Yura! You're more suited to Chaser--"

"And I've told  _you_ that I'm a Seeker!" Yurio said, red-faced and glancing at Yuuri before peeling Victor's fingers from his shoulders. He stalked off the field, Yu-chan running after him, and Yuuri was glad Yurio had support, whether he wanted it or not.

"Katsuki Yuuri has won the Hotsprings on Broomsticks event!" Morooka said, making his way to Yuuri, and the crowd cheered again. "A word, please?"

Yuuri tensed, unsure, before Victor wrapped an arm around him, warm and strong, his other hand gripping Yuuri's elbow. "I'm going to try and win the Quidditch Professional Cup with Victor!" he said, smiling.

And for the first time, with Victor's arm around him and the Snitch in his hand, Yuuri believed that he might actually be able to achieve his dream.


	4. Katsuki Yuuri and the Battle of Bureaucracy

Victor sat on the tiny green couch in his room, one of his million lamps turned on and lovingly highlighting his small bald spot. Yuuri smiled foolishly in the hall, stopping without meaning to stop, heart fluttering at the way Victor’s long legs were crossed. It was then he noticed the paperwork in Victor’s lap, which was approximately when Victor noticed Yuuri was watching him—admittedly, a bit creepily--from afar.

“Ah, Yuuri!” Victor said, eyes lighting up like Yuuri was the best surprise. Of course, Victor had looked the same way at the hot pot they had for dinner last night (which the waitress, caught in the crossfire of Victor’s undiluted charisma, had almost dropped), but Yuuri chose to bask in Victor’s warmth anyway.

Yuuri drifted into Victor’s room like they were in a vast blue sea, and he was a swimming fish and Victor was the shining lure.

“Come, sit next to me,” Victor said, patting the space beside him. Well, Victor patted the small space that was left after he had taken up the rest with his long legs and surprisingly broad shoulders and just--him. Yuuri would have to sit thigh-to-thigh with Victor, shoulders pressed together, any sudden movement resulting in the emergency of Yuuri’s cheek touching Victor’s--

“U-um, I’m fine, thank you,” Yuuri said, leaning against the door frame to ground himself.

“We can also sit on my bed if that’s more comfortable,” Victor said earnestly.

“No, no, I like standing,” Yuuri said, flailing his hands and refusing to let himself even look at Victor’s bed.

“Yuuri—” Victor started.

“What are you working on?” Yuuri interrupted to save what little sanity he had left.

“Your reinstatement papers,” Victor said, flashing a grin. “You have excellent timing--now, how long have you been a dragon?”

“Um,” Yuuri said in a faint voice. “My whole life?” He cleared his throat. “Victor, I can fill that out, you don’t have to worry about it.”

“Well,” Victor said slowly, his grin dimming, which Yuuri felt keenly, like the snuffing of a cheerful fire on a cold night. “The International Confederation of Wizards' Quidditch Committee requires my sign-off after the incident at the Asia Cup.”

“Oh,” Yuuri said in a small voice. He should have known. At first, Yuuri had just been caught up in the devastating blow to his career; then he had been absorbed by the complete excitement of Victor Nikiforov blowing into his life like a summer storm. Technically, it was against the rules for a dragon to be on the pitch in any capacity, and Yuuri was used to submitting to annual physical examinations and supplemental paperwork for the ICWQC. It had been determined at the beginning of Yuuri’s professional career in Quidditch that Yuuri was allowed to play as long as he never transformed into a dragon on the field.

The problem was that in the middle of the final game for the Asia Cup, Yuuri had shifted into dragon form on the field after having been knocked off his broom by a bludger.

“It’s just a formality,” Victor said unconvincingly. The ICWQC was notoriously strict regarding rule-breaking, even if it was an accident—even if it saved someone’s life.

“Of course,” Yuuri said, swallowing hard.

“Speaking of,” Victor said, eyes narrowing. “Why didn’t you tell me you had to fill this out every year? I’m your Captain, aren’t I?”

“Right,” Yuuri said, inching his way into the hall. “Sorry.” 

Instead of letting Yuuri escape, Victor put the paperwork aside and crossed the room so they were both standing in the doorway, Yuuri’s back against the doorframe. “Yuuri,” Victor said seriously, raising a hand to cup Yuuri’s cheek, his thumb pressing against Yuuri’s mouth. His skin was soft and cool and Yuuri was having trouble catching his breath; he wondered if Victor noticed. “Don’t worry,” Victor said. Yuuri fought the urge to lick his lips. “I’m vouching for you.”

Yuuri looked into Victor’s eyes, the color of smoke in the soft lighting of the room, and didn’t know what to do with the level of faith that Victor was placing in him. The thing was, Yuuri should have seen that bludger coming a mile away, as Seung-gil had accidentally swung wide. But it had been four hours since Yuuri had seen the Snitch and he was tired and he couldn’t stop thinking about how he hadn’t been there for Vicchan when he died and--it was all was too much. Yuuri remembered the nauseating pain of the bludger slamming into his side, cracking multiple ribs, and then the disorientation of falling head-first toward the grass before Yuuri reverted to his deepest instinct. “I--”

“Here’s your laundry,” Mari said. Yuuri tried to jump back, except the door frame was there so he only knocked his head painfully into its edges. Victor, of course, withdrew his hand and leaned back against the other door frame as if he had always meant to do that. Mari rolled her eyes, an unlit cigarette dangling from her mouth.

“Thank you,” Victor said, giving Mari his super-star smile and taking the basket to place it next to his bed. Yuuri could hardly picture Victor participating in something so mundane as putting laundry away even after witnessing Victor do any number of mundane things, such as sleeping and blowing his nose and washing dishes (badly) for his Mama.

“Mama needs you in the kitchen,” Mari said to Yuuri, lighting her cigarette.

“Why can’t you smoke outside,” Yuuri complained, even as he started down the hall.

“You have zero room to talk,” Mari called after him, which Yuuri didn’t dignify with a response.

When Yuuri reached the stairs, he noticed one of Victor’s socks on the second step and picked it up. The sock was white and cotton and ordinary except that it belonged to Victor. Yuuri rubbed his thumb over the toe of the sock and smiled because it was probably actually ridiculously expensive, as Yuuri had learned that Victor was a designer clothes-horse. Yuuri should really return it. He himself hated it when he could only find one sock of a pair. Then Yuuri thought about Victor--one of the most physically active people he had ever met even in a population of athletes--laboring over complicated paperwork just for Yuuri, so Yuuri could continue to do what he loved. Was Yuuri really going to repay everything Victor had done for him by stealing his sock?

Yuuri stuffed the sock in his pocket before he could change his mind and fled to the kitchen.

* * *

 Victor owled the paperwork to the ICWQC; the paperwork itself was so heavy that Victor had to pay two owls to carry it all. The waiting was interminable _._ It made Yuuri re-play the Asia Cup game in his mind over and over again. Immediately after the game, Yuuri hadn’t had anyone to sign-off for him because Ciao-Ciao and his team were considered to be too close to Yuuri to be objective. But now he had Victor Nikiforov in his corner, a god among players, and Yuuri couldn't stop fucking up in practice. He missed the Snitch when it was right in front of his face and fell off his broom in the middle of a Sloth Grip Roll.

“Yuuri, you tend to flub plays when you have something on your mind,” Victor said, casting a volume spell so that Yuuri could hear him from high in the sky.

Yuuri landed, fighting the urge to collapse in a demoralized heap on the grass; he couldn’t even drown his sorrows in katsudon.

Victor examined him with cool blue eyes. “Yuuri, I know you have the ability. Why can’t you pull it off?”

“Ah,” Yuuri mumbled. “I suppose I lack confidence in myself.”

“Just try to remember something like when a significant other loved you,” Victor suggested, waving a hand.

Yuuri gave him a disbelieving look.

“Oh right, you’ve never had a lover,” Victor said thoughtfully, which made Yuuri think of exactly how many lovers Victor allegedly had.

Yuuri slunk off to the locker room, Victor chattering behind him, and wondered whether this whole International Quidditch team idea was even worth it. If Yuuri was worth it.

Over the next week, possibly in an effort to distract Yuuri while they waited for a response, Victor invited Yuuri on any number of outings, including an evening walk, going out to lunch, and soaking in the hot springs. Yuuri rebuffed each invitation and spent increasing amounts of time as a dragon outside of practice--to the point where Minako-sensei and Mari began to look calculating again, which was when Yuuri realized, in retrospect, that he had really cut down on moping in dragon form. Because, well, he _liked_ talking to Victor.

Now Yuuri stared guiltily at Victor’s sock that he had stored in his special hiding place with his parents’ old quilt, Mari’s holey sweatshirt, Yu-chan’s broken bracelet, Nishigori’s tie pin, Ciao-Ciao’s hair tie, a pair of Minako-sensei’s worn-out Volanti shoes, and an ugly scarf of Phichit’s. A sock was such a small thing, wasn’t it? It was certainly smaller than a quilt or a scarf. In the last couple of days, Yuuri had taken to keeping Victor’s sock in the inside pocket of his uniform, which was a worrying escalation that Yuuri didn’t really want to think about. 

His phone pinged like Phichit’s oven timer, and he turned to find a fresh batch of _kluay tod_ resting on his bedspread; Phichit knew that they had owled the reinstatement application and kept sending things Yuuri wasn’t really supposed to have now that he had solidly returned to his training regimen.

“But it’s _fried_ ,” Yuuri whispered helplessly to himself, mouth watering, and rationalized that it wasn’t like Victor could read his mind to know he was cheating his diet.

He shoved the  _kluay tod_ into his mouth, quietly whimpering at how fucking good it tasted after weeks of nothing but steamed vegetables. It was so crispy on the outside, infused with coconut and sesame oil, and full of warm, creamy banana on the inside that melted on his tongue. “Oh my god,” he moaned.

“Yuuri, what are you doing in there?” Victor said, knocking on the door before swinging it open. “Let’s go somewhere--”

Yuuri stared at him from where he was kneeling next to his bed, open-mouthed, unchewed _kluay tod_ on display. Busted.

“I was going to ask if you wanted dinner, but I can see now that’s not necessary,” Victor said, smiling dangerously.

“I can explain,” Yuuri said after swallowing.

Victor raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, looking uncomfortably like Mama when Yuuri had tried to hide a baby garden snake in his room when he was nine.

“I--um,” Yuuri said feebly. “I--”

Victor sighed and swung Yuuri’s desk chair around to sit in it. “Yuuri, do you know why I decided to become your coach?”

Yuuri blinked at the sudden change in topic.

“I was drawn to you because of the way you fly,” Victor continued. “You fly like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like the rest of us are ridiculous for even considering anything else. I want to maximize that.” His eyes were so clear and shining and determined that Yuuri flushed beet red at having that kind of focus directed solely at him. “Only I can do that.”

Yuuri was about to fumble through a response when another ping sounded from his phone. He turned slowly toward his bed, desperately hoping it wasn’t more contraband food before sighing in relief when nothing materialized. Then Yuuri picked up his phone to find Phichit’s text that said, “Wow, glad you enjoyed it so much!” attached in response to a video that his phone had apparently sent of its own free electronic will of Yuuri _eating kluay tod like a two dollar prostitute_.

Fuck.

“Yuuri,” Victor said in a low voice. Yuuri was afraid to even look in Victor’s direction. “Twenty laps, starting now.”

“Right,” Yuuri said gloomily.

* * *

The next morning, Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to attend morning practice. He rolled around in dragon form until Victor ominously opened the door and said, voice bright, “Good morning, Yuuri. Let’s go to the ocean.”

Yuuri felt too guilty to refuse, not even taking the time to change into human form and put on clothes. He awkwardly minced his way out of the inn and then flew next to Victor and Makkachin the entire way to the beach. Victor was silent with his hands in his pockets, but it was a thoughtful silence that felt soothing to Yuuri’s raw nerves.

Victor and Yuuri sat on thick rock while Makkachin exhausted herself by fruitlessly chasing the storm petrels, who were enormous and floating high above in the gray sky. It was true, storm petrels used to make Yuuri’s stomach ache with sadness because he knew he would never be a passenger on one. But now, long after graduating Koldovstoretz, Yuuri could watch them with a lighter heart, filled with tenderness for his younger self who had wondered if he would ever be able to achieve what he wanted.

“Oh, storm petrels,” Victor said, smiling wistfully, the first thing he had said since they left the inn. “Ever since I came here, I’m reminded of Koldovstoretz when I hear storm petrels in the early morning.”

Yuuri curled his tail around himself and looked over at Victor in surprise; in school, Yuuri had noticed the cries of the storm petrels every morning and thought of Mari and his parents and what they were doing across the sea in Japan.

“I didn’t think I would ever leave Russia,” Victor said, his smile turning wry. “And now, here I am.”

Yuuri hissed a small flame in acknowledgment as Makkachin settled in the sand by Victor’s feet. Yuuri looked at his own clawed feet, where they were hooked over the lip of the stone. He could hear Victor digging around in the bag he had brought with him, slung over one shoulder.

“Do you ever have times like that?” Victor said gently, and Yuuri looked at Victor again to see him holding up one of his own sweatshirts and a pair of Yuuri’s pants in question.

Yuuri hunched in on himself, deliberating, before slowly shifting into human form. It was cold by the sea without tough scales and fire in his veins. Yuuri quickly tugged on the clothes Victor had brought him, shivering in his fragile human flesh and bones, and haltingly told Victor about the girl in Detroit who had tried to hug him and how he, in turn, had pushed her away.

“Wow, why?” Victor said, laughing a little, and Yuuri leaned back on the stone, watching the storm petrels fly further and further away.

“I didn’t want her to think I was feeling unsettled,” Yuuri said slowly. “I didn’t want her to treat me like I was weak.”

“Yuuri, you’re not weak,” Victor said, and Yuuri felt relief run through him, his stomach relaxing from the knots it had tied itself in since Victor had owled the application. “No one else thinks that, either.”

Yuuri only had time to enjoy this reassurance for a brief moment before Victor started musing on what role he should play for Yuuri.

“Then, your boyfriend, I guess,” Victor somehow concluded when Yuuri had nixed Victor’s other suggestions, as if it was only logical. “I can try my best.”

Yuuri almost pulled a muscle in shock. “No, no, no, no, no, I want you to stay who you are, Victor!” he said, speaking quickly so Victor wouldn’t have space to make any other horrifying suggestions. “I--I just didn’t want you to see my weaknesses.” He timidly looked up at Victor through his lashes, unable to believe he was actually admitting this. “I’ve always looked up to you.”

Victor smiled at him, small and quiet, the kind of smile Yuuri had never seen him direct at anyone else. “I won’t let you off easy then,” Victor said. “That’s my way of showing my love.”

Yuuri didn’t know how Victor could just _say_ things like that, all wonderful sincerity, and he knew already that Victor was probably never going to see this sweatshirt again. Victor held out his hand. “Deal,” Yuuri said, shaking Victor’s hand and probably lingering a beat too long.

They walked back to the inn, shoulders brushing, and Makkachin tangling between their legs. Yuuri smiled into the collar of Victor’s sweatshirt that he had pulled up over his cold chin, suffused with a warm feeling of contentment.

* * *

 It was the middle of the night when Yuuri received the owl from the ICWQC. He read the hand-written letter once, twice, three times, before he ran into Victor’s room and bounced onto his bed, accidentally kicking both Makkachin and Victor awake.

“Oops, sorry!” Yuuri said, trying to find a space free of human and dog limbs. He flicked on one of Victor’s billion lamps. “It’s here,” Yuuri said breathlessly, shoving the letter in Victor’s face. “They said I can play!”

“That’s wonderful, Yuuri!” Victor said, which was when Yuuri realized that Victor apparently slept naked. Yuuri had only just gotten used to Victor’s nudity in the context of the hot springs and the implications of Victor without clothes in a bed was just--too much for Yuuri’s sanity. “Now we can join the rest of the team in two weeks with no worries, as planned,” Victor said, re-reading the letter a third time, just like Yuuri had.

“It’s really happening,” Yuuri said in wonder, petting Makkachin's curly fur.

"Da," Victor said, beaming.

They were finally going to make the move to Saint Petersburg.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The ICWQC has the unlucky job of regulating this contentious and anarchic competition. The rulebook concerning both on- and off-pitch magic is alleged to stretch to nineteen volumes and to include such rules as ‘no dragon is to be introduced into the stadium for any purpose including, but not limited to, team mascot, coach or cup warmer'..."
> 
> \--Pottermore


	5. Katsuki Yuuri and the Move to St. Petersburg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> St. Petersburg is gloomy! St. Petersburg is bleak! My underwear got frozen standing here all week!
> 
> \--Anastasia

Yuuri looked grimly at the collection on his bed: Victor’s white sock, Victor’s sweatshirt, Victor’s broom-polishing cloth, and two unused tea bags--from Victor’s private collection. He took his hands off his hips to cover his face before peeking through his fingers. It really wasn’t so bad, was it? Just some small things that Victor could hardly miss. In fact, Yuuri could get rid of most of them right now with no harm done. Just--right now. Now.

Yuuri packed each item carefully at the bottom of the box that held the rest of the items from his special hiding place. Fortunately, Victor was currently occupied with supervising the movers he had hired to pack his things for him. This supervision largely seemed to involve Victor either annoying the movers by getting in their way or annoying the movers by getting distracted and wandering away when they needed him. Victor had tried to have the movers box Yuuri’s things too, but Yuuri almost had a coronary imagining the movers finding even a tenth of his Victor posters. Yuuri had only allowed himself two posters of Victor, and he was still in the process of convincing himself that he was actually showing restraint. 

Now Yuuri applied copious amounts of tape to his box of shame and labeled it kitchen supplies, so Victor wouldn’t open it. Yuuri then shuffled down the hall to Victor’s room, drawn like a magnet by the sound of Victor’s voice. “Where do you want this?” one of the movers said, running his hand over the dimensions of Victor’s green chair. He was starting to look a little wild around the eyes after spending the last fourteen hours with Victor but was otherwise holding up admirably. As far as Yuuri could tell, most people within 3-5 meters of Victor tended to become pole-axed with a) infatuation, b) lust, or c) both, and needed a minimum of two hours of exposure to Victor to build up some sort of immunity. 

Phichit kept sending Yuuri links to veela match-making sites which was—so ridiculously unhelpful.

“With the couch,” Victor said, haphazardly shrinking his belongings and directing them into a ludicrously soft-looking leather satchel. Makkachin jumped to bite a passing pillow but missed tragically. 

“I’ve been wanting to ask,” the mover said, using a specialized spell to shrink the chair. Objects that were frequently used by magical beings that weren't entirely human could sometimes be persnickety to spell--Yuuri had plenty of experience with attempting to fix singed furnishings. “What kind of animal is Makkachin?”

“A poodle,” Victor said cheerfully.

“Do poodles normally fly?” the mover said, watching Makkachin collapse on the floor in defeat. Victor’s tea and ties continued to whizz across the room. "Maybe she's feeling a bit off today," the mover added hurriedly, as if he might have offended Victor.

“Oh, Makkachin isn’t magical at all,” Victor said, reaching down to manually shut the suitcase when his spell glanced off. 

The mover blinked. "Really?" he said.

“Poodles don’t do much other than beg for food and affection,” Yuuri said dryly.

“Yuuri!” Victor said, turning around in surprise. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to see that you won’t be able to find anything in that bag,” Yuuri said lightly, stepping inside the room. “Are you organizing any of it?”

“That’s what movers are for,” Victor said, flashing a smile in the mover’s direction, who proceeded to look both entranced and confused—which frankly, was a vast improvement from this morning when the mover practically swooned every time Victor smiled. And Victor smiled a lot. In fact, Victor displayed a wide variety of smiles, from the blindingly brilliant one when Yuuri actually caught the snitch during practice to the slightly drool-y one during dinner; Yuuri jealously hoarded each one that was given just to him.

Yuuri’s fingers itched to re-organize Victor’s things, to take over supervising the poor mover and make sure Victor's possessions actually made it to Russia in one piece. Except it would be too presumptuous, a kind of familiarity that Yuuri didn’t have a right to--and would probably also just reinforce Victor's tendency toward incompetence in domestic tasks, which Yuuri didn't want to contribute to.

Victor casually wrapped an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. “I only have a few things to go,” Victor said, waving vaguely toward his closet, which was…still packed to the gills with horrifyingly expensive clothing.

“I—see,” Yuuri said, politely pretending not to notice the mover’s look of despair. 

“Could you make tea for Honda-san?” Victor said, turning his head to give Yuuri the blindingly brilliant smile that Yuuri’s body now associated with Victor being pleased with him from weeks of practice.

“Of course,” Yuuri said reflexively, his stomach fizzing with Pavlovian pleasure. The mover, in the middle of folding sweaters, smiled dreamily from the contact high.

“I like the way you make tea best,” Victor said absently, already distracted by the shitshow that was his closet.

Yuuri’s heart still squeezed with delight though, and he had to exit the room quickly before he took one of Victor’s floating silk ties with him.

#

They traveled by Portkey at an ungodly hour with several other people who looked like sleep-deprived death; after approximately thirty minutes of delay from Portkey traffic controllers, they also started to look like they would cheerfully murder Victor if he commented one more time on the economy-class nature of the Portkey. Yuuri could have probably fallen asleep standing up while they waited except Victor was practically vibrating with excitement and far too much caffeine. By the time any of the Katsukis realized exactly how much tea Victor had been drinking to compensate for his packing all-nighter, the damage had been done. Yuuri mused that Victor’s inherent charm was apparently not enough to overcome three in the morning Portkey travel.

The Portkey itself was an old, dirty boot (“Must they be so attentive to the technical details,” Victor mourned, which Yuuri ignored), and they all crowded in at the appointed time to touch the boot. Yuuri had traveled to so many new places for his Quidditch career (such as it was, anyway) that it had come to feel like a tedious, mildly unpleasant chore on the level as taking out the trash. Yuuri had never quite gotten used to Portkey motion sickness, there was never time to be a tourist, and lodgings could be....questionable. Yuuri had developed an expertise on the impersonal hotel room, the cramped hostel, and the occasional musty barn.

But now he would be moving to Russia, where he would settle into a real living space with knick-knacks and photos and favorite mugs, and he would be living with  _Victor_. Somehow the recently acquired knowledge that Victor left wet towels on the floor when left to his own devices wasn’t as off-putting as it should have been.

The Portkey lit up, and Yuuri felt the familiar nauseating hook behind his navel that would drag him to his new home.

#

They landed in an alley in the heart of St. Petersburg, which admittedly was not the best impression of a city that Victor had once compared to Botticelli's  _Venus_  in such a besotted manner that Yuuri had been embarrassed on his behalf. The alley itself was covered in piss and stray cats that were probably bigger than Yuuri in dragon-form—Yuuri fought the reflexive urge to snarl at them, mostly because they probably out-classed him and he didn’t want to get his ass handed to him by cats in front of Victor.

“Ah, home, sweet home,” Victor said grinning, wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders to tow him away from the alley (and the cats) to the street, where Yuuri received a much better second impression of St. Petersburg. St. Petersburg in the evening was all jewel-tone colors: lapis-lazuli water on their left, neatly pruned emerald trees on their right, and russet cobble-stone road beneath their feet. The street was lined with magnificent, butter-yellow buildings with gilded trim that probably belonged to government officials. It was all so rich in comparison to the delicate color scheme of Japan that Yuuri almost felt queasy.

“Where are we going?” Yuuri said, his eyes wide to try to take in everything all at once.

“It’s a surprise,” Victor said, beaming, tugging him away from a fountain; even the smoke-gray stone was so pure in color that it almost looked tangible, like it should smudge when Yuuri touched it.

Yuuri slanted a dubious look at Victor. Sometimes Victor’s definition of a good surprise was different than other people’s; there were many, many tabloid articles that listed in detail Victor’s many excesses. What would a person even do with fifty kilos of champagne and blow-up dolphins?

Victor laughed, drawing several bystanders’ attention—Yuuri could tell that their admiration was almost instinctual, like burrowing into warmth in winter. “I promise, you’ll like it,” Victor said, winking.

Yuuri ducked his head to hide an embarrassingly goofy smile while Victor played tour guide; except Victor’s version of pointing out the sites involved sly gossip of where certain celebrities had excruciating screaming fights and/or got caught cheating.

“And this is where Ana Rutenskaya threw her drink on Grigori, after catching him cheating on her with Viktor Krum and Hugo Montarre,” Victor said, pointing at a table and chairs inside of a restaurant with tall glass windows.

“No,” Yuuri gasped. “Viktor would never.”

Victor shrugged. “Well, in his defense, Krum was apparently unaware that Grigori was still married and so punched him in the face while Montarre filmed the whole thing.” Victor raised his eyebrows. “First name-basis with Krum, eh, Yuuri?”

“He patched up my nose after a game once,” Yuuri mumbled. Yuuri had let a bludger plow into his face in order to catch the snitch, and Viktor Krum had apparently been so impressed he wasn’t even upset.

“ _Really_ ,” Victor said, looking too interested for Yuuri’s comfort.

“Well, uh,” Yuuri stuttered before thankfully being saved by Victor’s short attention span.

“Oh, look, here we are!” Victor said, waving his arm grandly at what looked like an abandoned Starbucks.

“Is this…where you live?” Yuuri said, trying to sound open-minded, or at least not shocked that Victor would live in a shack when Victor was probably the most high-maintenance person Yuuri had ever met.

Victor looked at him like he had two heads. “Of course not, Yuuri, don’t be silly,” he said. “This is where you will be training!”

Yuuri opened his mouth and then shut it before opening it again.

“If it’s your intention to imitate a fish, you are doing an excellent job,” Victor said dryly, pushing Yuuri inside. He didn't even have to open the door because it was lying mostly off its hinges.

And, of course, on the inside, it wasn’t a shack but one of the most enormous Quidditch pitches Yuuri had ever seen. The stands were two stories high, and he could hardly even see the other end of the pitch. Yuuri should have known.

“Surprise,” Victor said, smiling so innocently that Yuuri knew it had to be evil.

“It’s amazing,” Yuuri said, looking upward where there was no ceiling, only clouds that threatened to rain.

“We can practice in any weather we want,” Victor said proudly. “Even in a hurricane.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Yuuri said, bending down to touch the lush, green grass. It was soft as cotton. 

“This is where Quidditch is moving,” Victor explained. “It saves space, it’s cheaper, and it’s easier to spell Muggles away.”

“I want one for Hasestsu,” Yuuri said enviously, feeling the first drops of rain.

Victor squeezed his shoulder. “Come on, we should go before it storms.”

“Can’t you just change the weather?” Yuuri said and then a boom of thunder rang across the pitch.

“We tend to let the weather do what it wants when we’re not using it due to conservation laws,” Victor said, as they ran toward the exit. They walked out into warm sunshine just as Yuuri heard the sudden downpour of rain. “And besides, I’m sure you want to get settled in before meeting the team.”

“I’m—meeting the team today?” Yuuri squeaked. He had thought he would at least have tomorrow to prepare himself, as absolutely  _everyone_ in the Quidditch world had seen—and heard and read—about Yuuri’s devastating failure. And Victor, being Victor, had the reputation and network to put together a first-class team, which meant Yuuri was somehow going to have to prove himself to unrivaled players who had no reason to respect him.

“Well, only if you want to,” Victor said, eyebrows climbing toward his slowly receding—adorable—hairline. “But I figured the sooner the better, yes?”

“O-of course,” Yuuri said, stomach churning with nerves and the effects of time-lag.

“Great!” Victor said, flashing a million-watt smile. Yuuri wanted to swoon and then fan himself with a monogrammed handkerchief like a heroine in one of Minako-sensei’s trashy novels. Victor wrapped an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders, pulling him in so close that Yuuri could smell his cologne, and Yuuri’s first breathless thought was  _is he—is he is really going to—_ and then Victor said, “Hold on tight!” and apparated them both to Victor’s apartment.

#

Yuuri first tried not to vomit on the carpet from motion sickness—really, Victor should know better after witnessing Yuuri vomit multiple times in dragon-form from side-apparation with Minako-sensei—and then when Yuuri succeeded at that, he tried not to turn beet-red from embarrassment at what he had thought Victor was going to—might have—done. Yuuri scrubbed his hands over his face. It had been a preposterous thought anyway, Victor was probably the best and most beautiful Quidditch player in the whole entire world, and Yuuri was a total fuck-up and—

“Yuri, I gave you those keys for emergencies-only,” Victor said sternly. Yuuri blinked rapidly and turned slowly toward Victor in confusion before registering a very familiar, hostile presence gorging himself on what looked like Victor’s entire food pantry.

“Practice  _is_  an emergency,” Yuri said, glaring at Victor from Victor’s kitchen table. Yuri took a large, vicious bite from an even larger banana.

Victor winced. “You’re getting banana all over the table,” he said in despair.

Yuri finished the banana and shoved an apple into his mouth in almost one smooth movement, which was both disgusting and impressive. “Gotta go,” he said, or at least that was what Yuuri assumed he said. It was a little hard to tell because of the giant apple taking up most of Yuri’s face.

“Did you  _sleep_  here?” Victor said, peering into the living room. Yuri rolled his eyes and headed toward the door. “Yuri, give me those keys,” Victor said, smiling in such a way that made Yuuri want to hide under the table. 

Yuri aggressively ignored Victor, taking one last, loud bite of the apple before leaving it on the little table next to the door. “Bye, piggie,” Yuri said, almost as an after-thought, and slammed out of the apartment with the keys.

Victor pinched the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb and stared at the half-eaten apple. “Charming,” he said.

“He’s a teenager,” Yuuri said, shrugging.

“I’m sure you weren’t like this,” Victor said wistfully, picking up the apple and taking a bite out of it.

Yuuri winced. “I went to school away from home,” Yuuri said carefully, because as far as Yuuri knew, Victor had never noticed him when they were in school; the one advantage of that being Victor wouldn’t know about the Wiggelby-Woggleby incident or really, anything else from Yuuri’s terrible-decision laden youth. “And then I was in Detroit.”

God, Yuuri was glad his parents hadn’t witnessed most of his teenaged self’s stupidity. Fortunately, Yuuri and Phichit both had far too much photographic blackmail on each other, which had the result of a very comforting and secure stalemate.

“Yuuuuuri,“ Victor said, far too much calculation in his very blue eyes, "Were you a bad--"

Which was when the door flung open and Christophe Giacometti, second-best Chaser in the world only to Victor Nikiforov himself, sauntered through.

“Victor,” Chris said throatily, arranging himself in an uncomfortably attractive manner against the doorframe. “It’s been too long.”

“Chris, move it,” came a muffled voice from behind the door.

“Yeah, Christy, this is fucking heavy,” said a second voice before shoving Chris to the side to reveal an unimpressed Mila Babicheva and a pile of hovering boxes. 

 “Mila, must you call me that,” Chris said, dramatically rubbing his arm. “And you weren’t even carrying them.” Mila waved the boxes onto Victor’s dining room table, and Sara Crispino set down an extensive amount of booze.  Mila and Sara had been neck-and-neck in the top five ranking of beaters and now—now they were in Victor’s living room, and Yuuri was going to be on a team with them.

Before Yuuri could spiral into an emotional meltdown revolving around his wide-ranging catalogue of personal insecurities, Mila whipped off the lid to the top box that had a gigantic chocolate cake in it that said, “WELCOME TO THE TEAM YUURI” in day-glo orange coloring.

“Wow,” Yuuri said faintly, over-whelmed by both the sentiment and the fluorescent nature of the cake.

“Surprise!” Sara said, taking a photo. "We were supposed to come later, but the cake was ready early and we thought--why not?" Yuuri fervently hoped his unflattering look of gawpy shock wouldn’t end up on social media, although it would be far from the first time.

“Georgi said he’d be over in an hour,” Mila said, shoving paper plates into Chris’ arms. “He’s trying to win Anya back.”

Victor snorted loudly and took a sip of a glittering green liquid from a Scotch glass.

“I know, right,” Mila said, stealing a taste from Victor’s glass before pouring herself a shot of a different drink that threw off dangerous-looking sparks. “Yakov made Victor take him on as our third Chaser,” she said to Yuuri. She downed the shot and steam gently wafted from her ears. “Yakov couldn’t take the melodrama anymore.”

“Did he really call Yakov in the middle of the night to drunkenly sing Elvis songs?” Sara said, face brightening with glee.

“No, that’s just rumor,” Mila said, waving a hand and accidentally setting Sara’s piece of cake on fire. Sara looked used to this and calmly Vanished the cake before cutting herself a new piece. “But,” Mila said, smirking, “Georgi  _did_ get drunk and cry all over Yakov for like an hour when Anya broke up with him. Yakov looked like he wanted to die.”

“He billed Georgi for the dry-cleaning,” Victor pointed out.

“Yes, for his moth-eaten vomit-colored sweater that he probably bought when the Berlin Wall still existed,” Mila said dryly.

Everyone took a long pause to consider Yakov’s capacity for both grudge-holding and frugality

“This explains much about you, Victor,” Chris said thoughtfully.

Victor didn’t dignify that with a response and turned to Yuuri. “Yuuri, are you sure you don't want a drink?” he said earnestly.

Yuuri really, really couldn't afford the potential consuences of the unfortunate drinking genetics he had received from his father and said, weakly, “Oh no, I’m fine with cake.”

Victor shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said, draining his second drink and slinging an arm around Chris’ shoulders. Yuuri swallowed down a resistant swell of longing. “Hey, hey, where’s Otabek?”

“Who knows,” Sara said, digging into other boxes that appeared to hold massive quantities of Chinese takeaway.

Victor made a loud clicking sound with his tongue that made him sound like a disappointed mother. “He really needs to start bonding with the team.”

“Well, roughly a third of the team wasn’t even here until now,” Mila said logically.

“I’m very happy to bond with any of you,” Chris leered and then appeared to re-think this. “Except Georgi.”

“Let’s start with strip poker then,” Victor said brightly.

Everyone cheered except for Yuuri, who covered his face with his hands.

Sara pulled a pack of cards from her cleavage. “It’s tradition, Yuuri,” she said. “This is how we welcome people to the team. So you have to play." Yuuri was fairly certain was a lie because 1. the team had just formed, and 2. Otabek did not seem like the kind of person who would let himself get dragged into playing strip poker. Yuuri raised his eyebrows at Victor, but Victor was too busy playing bartender and mixing a suspiciously blue drink for Mila.

Sara put on the fakest sad look in the world, but Yuuri still folded like a wet paper towel, which didn't bode well for his poker playing skills.

“Don’t even think about turning into a dragon,” Victor ordered, finally deigning to pay attention.

Yuuri shuffled to the table and very pointedly retracted his claws.

By the end of the night, Yuuri was the only one still mostly clothed. Victor had been naked for at least an hour, Sara was snapping many very incriminating photos, and Georgi had joined them only to eat three quarters of the cake before crying into a very pink, lava-lamp-looking cocktail.

“You don’t know Phichit, do you,” Yuuri said to Sara with a rising sense of dread.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sara said, not taking her eyes off her phone. Mila was looking over Sara’s shoulder and giggling maniacally.

Yuuri’s phone chirped and a pair of underwear blinked into existence. “Just in case!!!!” Phichit’s text said. “And don’t forget to use protection—“ Yuuri didn’t even finish reading Phichit’s second text, blushing furiously because Victor was draped like a blanket over Yuuri’s shoulders.

“So tense, Yuuri,” Victor scolded.

“I can take care of that,” Chris said, only in a pair of boxer-briefs and surrounded by empty takeaway containers and socks.

“No,” Victor said, tightening his grip on Yuuri’s neck. “More cake!”

“Such a dignified captain,” Sara said, deadpan, to Mila.

“This is what we signed up for,” Mila said, grinning. “Think you can handle it, Yuuri?”

“I’ll do my best,” Yuuri said doubtfully, as he watched Victor—still entirely in the nude—practically inhale half of the second cake in one movement.

Well, at least now he knew where Yuri got it from.

**Author's Note:**

> yuri on ice tumblr kink meme prompt 326: Yuuri is a dragon in human form. This explains his desire to win round gold things.
> 
> He’s chosen Viktor as his mate. Yuri and the other skaters may be part of his hoarded treasure.


End file.
